


The Stuart Witch

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [64]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 20:09:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: In season two, Jamie was King of Men and Red Jamie. Men feared him and respected him, saw him as a great soldier. What if one of these men from the army saw a sweet moment between Jamie and Claire? Seeing how caring and loving Big Bad Jamie actually was only with his wife?





	The Stuart Witch

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/159077073385/hello-girls-last-night-i-was-thinking-that) on tumblr

“Step lively, now! I thought English soldiers always loved marching!”

Corporal Alexander Lake bit back a retort and leaned heavily on the shoulder of Private Oliver Mason (his real name being unpronouncable, due to the odd fact that he was of all things a Lithuanian mercenary), hobbling as best he could to keep his weight off the broken ankle. Mason wasn’t in much better shape – with blood slowly darkening the scarlet of his lieutenant’s coat, and missing the top half of his right ear.

What a bloody farce this all was. All that planning – all that stupid confidence that they’d glorify the King by crushing this damned rebellion led by these filthy Scots. And now here they were, sliding through the mud as prisoners of war on their way to what Mac-whatever had said was their field hospital.

Field hospital? Did they even have hospitals here?

Mac-whatever heartily clapped a compatriot on the back as they rounded a corner toward a barn that had clearly been converted into some kind of military facility. Men sporting all kinds of wounds milled about the courtyard – clutching broken bones, blinking against pain, wandering in a daze, still in shock from the very quick and very bloody battle.

“All right, lads! Just go through that door right there – I’m sure the ladies would love to take care of ye!”

The Scot pointed a grubby finger in the direction of the barn door, where a weary, kerchiefed woman waited. The small, sad column of prisoners grimly filtered through the door.

Lake’s first impression was of surprise – for the field hospital was quiet, orderly, and organized. Run with military-like precision.

“The British! The British prisoners are here!” piped up a young, panicked woman as they entered.

With the crowd of men in front of him, Lake couldn’t tell who the woman was addressing – some kind of general, perhaps? But then Rhead – ever wanting to show his mettle as a leader – piped up:

“We mean you no harm, madam – but we do require your assistance.”

The fool sounded like he was begging. How dare he? How –

But the voice that responded – Christ almighty. An Englishwoman.

Leading a Scottish military hospital?

None of it made sense – had he been struck by a bullet or saber after all?

But before long he was laid flat out on a straw pallet – surprisingly clean – and the Englishwoman was lifting his eyelids and prodding his joints.

“Swelling looks normal for a break…any tenderness around the other joints? Were you struck by anything?”

Too dumbstruck to respond, Lake could only shake his head.

The Englishwoman – whoever she was – clearly knew her way around a wounded body. Sweat shone on her forehead. Blood – likely from a mixture of several people – had soaked a good six inches up the hem of her skirts. Still more blood spatters coated her arms, with one smear tantalizingly just above her bosom.

This woman was in charge – and absolutely breathtaking in her beauty.

“You’ll just have to lie here for a while – there are many other men more gravely wounded than you. Do you understand?”

Even if he didn’t, could he tell her no?

He must have nodded, for before long she was gone in a swirl of skirts, issuing commands to the dedicated women buzzing around the room.

It could have been hours or days that Lake lay there, contemplating. Watching more and more injured Scots trickle in – listening to the dispirited murmurs of conversation between the prisoners around him – admiring how one of the younger women never seemed to rest, despite her clear exhaustion.

But more than anything, wondering how She had made it here.

Clearly She wasn’t under duress – clearly She thrived in this environment. Perhaps She had wedded herself to the Scots’ ridiculous cause? Perhaps She had grown up in Scotland – but then where would She have gained such impressive medical experience? The Scots weren’t exactly known to let their women out of their hovels or castles.

She hadn’t been part of his army – he doubtless would have heard of her. She certainly had a tongue to match the most seasoned soldier – and wasn’t afraid to use it.

Christ, what a woman. Clearly respected by both the men and the women in the room. None of the men even attempted to touch her skirts, or look down her bodice – for fear, perhaps, but definitely for respect.

Dim memories from school flooded into his mind – Boudicea the warrior queen. Elizabeth Regina. Cleopatra, even – all fearsome women in their own right. All queens – just as this strange woman was.

The door crashed open – and Lake’s blood ran cold. For in strode Red Jamie – the man he’d seen cut down at least five of his comrades that morning. The man the generals talked about in their councils – about how smart and ruthless he was. How he’d charm you right into a trap. How he was so dangerous that he should be captured – if not shot – on sight. And here he was, filthy shirt stained with the blood of his brothers.

And here he was, striding toward Her. Holding Her. Framing her blood-smeared face in his blood-stained hands.

Kissing Her.

Bloody hands impossibly gentle.

Christ almighty. She was Red Jamie’s wife. The Stuart Witch.

Their reunion – lingering, tender – mesmerized him.

For such love to exist – to thrive – in such a place…

And then She stormed outside – and he turned to survey his wounded men.

Lake coughed - suddenly feeling very tired - and finally closed his eyes.


End file.
